Yes, I know Christmas is a non-denominational holiday in which we put aside our religious differences and celebrate the birth of everyone's lord and saviour Jesus Christ.

But there really are some people for which Jesus was just a carpenter with some lovely humanistic ideals and celebrating his birthday 2000 years later seems, I dunno, excessive.

Let's just call them, for argument's sake, "Jews."

I grew up in a secular Jewish household with a mum that loved Christmas but we never celebrated in a traditional sense. We never dragged a dead tree into the house for instance, or received any presents (I think my parents liked this bit the best).

One year, Darren Levin's family celebrated Christmas by going to a Queensland 7-Eleven. Picture: supplied

When kids in my streets would be carving up the cul-de-sac on Christmas morning with their new bikes and rollerblades, I'd be inside working out how to get the maximum amount of fun out of a single Chanukah spinning top. Still to this day I'm triggered by the dreidel song.

For as long as I can remember I've had to learn how to awkwardly dodge questions about how my Christmas shopping is going ("Um, great! I have bought all of the Christmas things") or steel myself for some intense water cooler interrogation.

"I don't get it. So does that mean you've never watched Love Actually? Or put up a tree? Wait, you've never heard of a bauble? You don't eat ham!"

There's nothing like Christmas to really affirm your otherness and there are times when I've considered fully embracing it for convenience or just to fit in. It's also incredibly boring if you have nowhere to go and nothing to do. On a holiday to Queensland over Christmas we took several family outings to 7-Eleven because it was raining and the entire state had shut down. Who knew the magazine section could account for literally minutes of entertainment.

No bogus Christmas presents required here, thank you. Picture: iStock

You're probably wondering why I don't just stop with the kvetching and join in the yuletide cheer.

To which I'd say, why don't you abandon chocolate eggs and presents for "holidays" that involve fasting for 24 hours, cutting out carbs for eight days, or eating plates of chopped liver and gelatinous fish?

If we wholeheartedly embraced Christmas would we be betraying our own culture? Is identity really that much of a slippery slope?

First Christmas, then Easter, then Aunt Nora staging an intervention at your baptism with a bag of bagels and the rabbi that circumcised you. And besides there's no real novelty in arguing over politics with your extended family and eating your body weight in food. That's just a regular Friday night for Jews.

Darren Levin's daughters have started a Christmas tradition of leaving pretzels, gherkins and a glass of milk out for Santa. Picture: supplied

Our internal quandary over Christmas has intensified since we've had children. Our eldest daughter has never believed in Santa so every day I live in fear of getting a call from the school asking me why she's ruined Christmas for the entire classroom.

Not that she could ever shake the faith of her younger sisters, who treat Santa like a Jesus-like deity year round. He's the protagonist in our made-up bedtime stories - the benevolent hero who showers children with presents but only if they go to bed on time and clean up their rooms.

They love Santa so much that last year we caved in and put out stockings. We even made him a snack - but with a cultural twist. You put out milk and cookies, we had pretzels and a pickle.

Maybe a Jewish Christmas is possible after all? Chrismukkah, I believe it's called.

Darren Levin is a writer, editor and wannabe dad-fluencer based in Melbourne. Find him on Twitter and Instagram.